


Below Freezing

by aftersoon (notboldly)



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Cold Weather, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Stranded, Survival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-25 23:04:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/958659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notboldly/pseuds/aftersoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Rhodey crash lands in the Himalayan wilderness, it tests more than just his survival skills.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Below Freezing

The first thing that Rhodey realized upon waking was that he couldn't move, and that he was suffocating. No, not suffocating; being crushed, sitting motionless in the dark with an impossible weight on him. It was the weight that made him panic, heart hammering and breaths coming in gulps of air and rapid exhales that warmed his face, but it was the darkness that made him realize something was definitely wrong with the suit. It took him another moment to calm enough to realize the weight _was_ his suit, powered down and silent, but the realization didn't smother the feeling of being buried.

He was trapped. 

"Colonel Rhodes to War Machine armor," he said, wetting his lips when there was no response. "Colonel Rhodes to War Machine armor, execute evacuation procedure." Still nothing; the emergency power must have been damaged as well, and Rhodey stretched out his fingers, looking for the manual override switch and praying it wasn't broken.

The chest of the armor flew off with an echoing crack when he brushed the button, flying into the air and pelting his torso with the chunks of ice and snow it left behind. The front plate of the helmet lifted slowly, sluggish motion too jerky for Rhodey's comfort, and he felt the first stirrings of relief when his eyes opened to a clear sky, bright sun, and open space above him.

The relief didn't last, because quick to follow was the stiff, freezing breeze from the air around him as the rest of the armor cracked and released him with reluctance. It took him all of a second to decide that he'd have preferred to stay trapped rather than exposed to the gust and bellow of the wind, but he changed his mind when he saw that he was lying in a crater, comet-shaped with a tail that stretched for fifty yards beyond his feet. He remembered the crash now, and more importantly, he remembered the reason for it: when he left the conference, his suit had began heading north without his command, and wouldn't turn around no matter what override he tried. Then, somewhere north of the southernmost Himalayas, he'd dropped from the sky without warning.

Apparently, he had bigger problems than just a little wind.

****

Rhodey spent close to an hour trying to locate the problem with the suit, and not for the first time, he wished he'd gone the direction of mechanical engineering like Tony had. Even if they'd taken the exact same classes and followed the exact same path, however, Rhodey knew he was no Tony Stark, and the inner workings of the suit remained a mystery to him. It was frustrating, but not half as frustrating as when he found the discarded chest plate of the armor, the arc reactor inside still functioning perfectly and giving off a soft blue glow, mocking his attempts. It had to be the electronics that were at fault, then, and that was even less his area than the mechanics of it.

The wind picked up as he walked back to the crater, now littered with suit remains, and he pulled the collar of his shirt closer to his neck. These weren't his warmest clothes, but they were better than his usual civilian wear, something he appreciated with every sucking breath he took. The air was cold and dry, stinging his lungs and whipping at his bare cheeks, and Rhodey closed his mouth. Breathing through his nose didn't help much, and that wasn't good; if it was this cold during the peak of the day, how cold would it get at night? Without the option of the suit, the first thing he had to do was find shelter, and with new determination, he turned back to the crater.

It took only a few minutes to accept that he couldn't take the suit with him, regardless of direction, and that was even aside from the problem of removing it from its crater and putting it back together. To reach the clump of trees to the northwest, his best option for shelter, he would have to climb a steep incline, possibly with deep snow gathered at the base, and there was no way he could fight gravity, snow drifts, and ice for that long with the armor slowing him down. To head southeast and back the way he came would require dragging hundreds of pounds of lifeless metal behind him for an unknown distance, and the exertion would probably kill him in this cold. Although something in him rebelled at the thought of leaving the suit— _his_ suit, the last Iron Man suit at all—he knew he had to be practical.

Besides, Rhodey rationalized, he still didn't know why his suit had malfunctioned. The last thing he wanted was for a villain to find him and the suit together, with neither of them in fighting shape.

With that in mind and aware of the ticking clock, he stripped it. War Machine didn't come with much in the way of emergency provisions, but Rhodey hadn't let that stop him from carrying his own. He had matches, a knife, his watch, a canteen of water, some beef jerky, his military grade clothing and thin gloves, and that was a start. He cut the lightweight padding out of the suit, just in case, and after a moment's hesitation, he removed the arc reactor from the chest, stuffing it and its gentle glow inside the bundle of supplies at his feet. He checked the helmet again, but it was as unresponsive as it had been a few minutes ago. He added that to his pile all the same, because if Tony…but he shied away from the thought. Tony wouldn't try to call him, not after their last conversation. And aside from Tony, no one would even think to call him; he wasn't expected back for another week.

Rhodey sighed, taking a deep breath through his nose to counter the thought, before looking towards the mountains and deciding that would be his first stop; he would never survive without firewood, even if human life was only a day's travel in the opposite direction.

With one last look at the armor, Rhodey gathered his supplies, squared his shoulders, and began to walk.

****

The base of the mountain was closer than it appeared, no more than an hour's walk, and Rhodey was grateful for small favors; by the time he reached the first clump of pine trees, the sun had dipped behind the hilly horizon, making the last few minutes' walk much colder than they should have been. The dry air now seemed to scald his cheeks and claw at his thin clothes, and he shivered slightly, all the while keeping his eyes on the skyline and his feet pointed towards trees. What he was looking for, he didn't know; the chance of him being lucky enough to land in a tourist hot spot in the Himalayas was slim, and if there was little chance of a helicopter, the sky would remain clear.

When the mountain in front of him was so close that looking up at the sky became a painful endeavor, he reluctantly gave up, focusing instead on the crowd of trees not thick enough to be called a forest. On instinct and bare memories, he skirted the most open area, taking note of the broken branches and shattered trunks, and he went instead to his right, to a tiny valley tucked into the crevice between two tall pines and the mountainside. The worst of the wind was blocked there, or at least enough wind that he felt certain he could set his supplies down and not find them covered in snow ten minutes later.

Using his knife, he sawed at the trees, first at the bark and then at the thinnest branches. The rationale was that he needed both kindling and practice, but the reality was that his hand felt sore and too tight after only a few minutes, the shape of his blade barely making a dent in the wide trunks. With a sigh, he gave up and returned to the clearing, careful to count his steps on the way and keep his ears open for any sign of avalanches, for cracking wood or fleeing birds. While he heard nothing other than the ordinary wind, he was still quick to gather an armful of the driest branches and head back to his makeshift camp, breathing in frosty air determinedly as he walked.

 _It's quiet,_ he thought with amusement. _Almost too quiet._ If his life were an action movie, he'd have expected a swarm of bad guys to jump out at him from every angle. At this point, he thought he'd even welcome an Extremis-heated soldier or two; heaven knew he wasn't looking forward to starting a fire on his own with this pitiful supply, branches near dead and almost drained of sap. They wouldn't burn long. If he was very lucky, he wouldn't have to get more before dawn, but then, his luck hadn't been the greatest lately, even before the crash.

_Well, I call it bad luck. Tony would probably call it punishment for genius if he were in my shoes. But then, he wouldn't be: he could just fix the suit._

More than a little disgruntled with the thought, Rhodey walked carefully back, as much to avoid snow drifts as to retrace his steps. When he spotted the telltale glow of the arc reactor, he was glad he'd decided to take it; it was like a beacon in the dim light, blue that stood out against the snow and the trees like his own little spotlight, guiding him safely home. If only.

He was quick to build the fire, setting the branches up in a familiar teepee shape. He moved the little pile several times, torn between wanting to use the wide trees as a shelter and wanting not to catch his only block from the wind on fire. He also briefly considered that idea; a signal fire could only help him if there were people in the area, but with night coming quickly, anyone with the means to help him would wisely already be inside. He discarded the idea, and instead set his fire, feeding the flame when it sputtered. It didn't quite make it to a roar, but it was warm on his chilled skin. 

Shelter was something more of a problem, the snow too powdery to sculpt into any sort of burrow, and after trying for a few minutes, he reluctantly gave up. The trees and fire would have to do, at least for now, because he didn't think it would help his situation if he got wet in the construction attempt. As it was, he had the padding, and he had the helmet, which he pulled onto his head with a grunt. He knew he probably looked ridiculous, but at least his ears were warm. Or warmer. And even though he knew damn well he had no better chance of reaching someone than before, the dark enclosure of the helmet made him feel better. 

With a tired sigh, he set his watch to an hour, fed the fire, and fell into a light doze under open air.

****

Rhodey had to feed the fire three times that night, something which nearly depleted his armload of wood, and the short naps he took in between alarms were just enough that his eyes felt gritty when he opened them to sunlight. In addition, he woke up cold, having rolled off his thin padding bed into snow, and the fire had dimmed down to smoldering coals with no flame to speak of. It wasn't a good start to the first day of what he had decided to think of as _intense survival training_ , and he stomped out the most resilient embers as he shook feeling back into his feet. He considered taking some of the coals with him, but decided against it when he realized the only option was to carry them in his helmet. They wouldn't be much use in the long run anyway, he rationalized, small as they were. Crumbs, really, and it was that thought that made him impulsively arrange the ashes into an arrow, pointing in the direction he planned to walk. He doubted it would help, but it felt like something he should do, the mountain version of a message in a bottle. _Send help, love Rhodey_ ; well, there weren't enough ashes for that. Maybe next time.

He gathered firewood with a smile on his face, possibly because he'd spent too much time with Tony not to find the situation a little funny. Mostly, though, it was because everything looked brighter in the daylight, after drinking water and eating a small piece of jerky. His watch said it was early morning, just past sunrise, and while there was a nip in the air, he figured it would only get warmer as he walked and the day passed. The goal, he decided, was to cover enough ground to get a better idea of his surroundings, or perhaps even to reach the crest of the next hill; he was feeling ambitious, and what had looked like a terrifying prospect at night now seemed laughably achievable. He would survive. Of course.

With his arms loaded with firewood and supplies, he set out again, this time towards the southeast and the blank expanse of snow. The ground was harder the further he went from the mountains and the trees, and while he couldn't spot his footsteps from the day before, the texture was familiar enough that he felt confident of his direction. He passed the crater with the suit before long, and the same burst of wind hit him, reminding him of just how cold it was on open ground. Even in sunlight, the wind chill was extreme, and it was with frustration that he crammed the helmet back on his head.

He'd made it less than a hundred steps before his neck began to ache with the extra weight, and he pulled the helmet off and resigned himself to cold ears and cheeks. On impulse, he folded the padding around his collar and inside the waistband of his pants. What had looked flimsy when separated from the suit now just looked funky, but the extra layer was at least enough to block some of the wind.

He wasn't smiling anymore, but as he walked, he had to admit that it could be worse.

****

By the time evening struck again, Rhodey had changed his mind, and he was really beginning to evaluate how useful his survival skills were when not in the desert. What had started as a good plan—walk toward the last seen life, cover as much ground as possible—was rapidly losing favor in the cold. After walking for hours with only the occasional break for human needs, his entire body was frozen, stiff like a board, and that wasn't good. Every time he blinked his eyes, he felt blind, unable to distinguish basic colors after staring so long at an endless expanse of white ground. His feet had gone numb what felt like miles ago, and his fingers seemed to be trying to curl into themselves, seeking heat not provided by his thin gloves. His lips were chapped and flaking, suffering from lack of water and a surplus of wind. His skin, always drier than it should have been, felt like it was cracking into pieces, but that, he decided with determination, was just his imagination.

He was forced to revise that thought when he finally stopped for the evening, because his fingertips felt like they'd been stripped bare of skin, and while he wasn't positive, he thought the color was darker than usual around the nail beds. It was a warning sign he took to heart, and he built a fire without wasting time trying to find the perfect spot. Having long since moved out of the comforting shadow of the mountains, he wasn't sure it would help him much regardless, and once the fire flickered to life on the end of his third match, he didn't care. His fingers felt like he'd dipped them straight into the coals, and he knew that was just the early stages of frostbite talking while he pressed his hands under his arms. He let the fire warm his face just slightly, let the feeling return to his nose, and then he pulled off his gloves, wrapped the skin-warm padding around his fingers, and then tugged his gloves back on. It helped.

Then, he dug. There was no other option, out in the open as he was, and he hoped he at least had enough light to make something like a burrow before temperatures dropped beyond reasonable working weather. It was silent still as he heaped more and more snow into a pile, and the silence bothered him in the way only constant exposure could. He told himself that when he got back home, he was going camping somewhere hot and muggy, preferably with insects buzzing in his ear no matter where he stood. Streams flowing. Thunder over his head. Anything but the purely natural _silence_.

The fire cracked, and Rhodey smiled reflexively, sitting in the shallow hole he'd dug and pushing his feet outward to expand it. His hands were getting damp, something he wanted to avoid at all costs, and he figured it was better to create a tunnel than a hole anyway. Better coverage. The fact that his feet were numb and not showing any signs of warming up, even when less than two feet from a fire, was another motivating factor; the more they had covering them, the better he'd feel. 

It was rough going, constructing something that would fit his entire body, but by the time it was dark, he was mostly finished and mostly starving. He sat by the fire and chewed thoughtfully on another piece of jerky, eating more than he would have originally planned on, but not caring; he needed the calories, especially in this weather. When he glanced at his water bottle and saw only two inches gone, he quickly drained it, then heaped it full of untouched snow. He'd melt it over the fire later, and it was with that thought that he set his watch timer again and huddled close to the flames. When he tilted his head to catch the majority of the heat, he felt sparse stubble scratch against his clothes. It made him smile, a little sadly; he never had been able to grow a very good beard. Tony had tried, once, to encourage it, but then the next day Rhodey had woken up with a far less impressive version of Tony's own beard. It was still one of his fondest memories.

As Rhodey lay down to sleep, surrounded by cold and light and the helmet, he wondered if Tony missed him.

****

Waking up in the morning was more difficult than it should have been, colder too, and Rhodey knew without looking that the fire had gone out during the night. Part of that was his fault since he'd forgotten to reset his alarm after the first time, but when he opened his eyes, he also saw that the fire pit was nearly buried in snow. The wind, he figured, and that was more worrying than just the cold. He wasn't sure how seasonal storms were in the area, but as he struggled to emerge from the semi-warmth of his snow cocoon, he thought the wind was stronger than it had been the last two days. He may not have known the weather patterns, but he could guess.

He had to get to different ground, find solid shelter beyond what he could get just from the snow. If he hadn't loathed the thought of retracing covered ground, he would have headed back the way he'd come, at least to the trees he knew were there. The problem was, he wasn't sure if he could make it. If he even had a chance.

For the first time since he'd been stranded, Rhodey felt the stirrings of fear, made only worse by the fact that his body felt stiffer today than it had the previous morning. He was getting slower. Sluggish.

He packed up camp as quickly as he could, taking the time to arrange the ashes into another arrow almost as an afterthought, and he nearly left his matches behind. Feeling foolish, he thoroughly checked all his supplies and shoved a piece of jerky between his teeth, but between the cold meat and the tension in his jaw, it hurt to chew. He stuffed both his water bottle and his food underneath his shirt, hoping that the walk would warm them like it was apparently unable to warm _him_. The hill he'd been headed to since yesterday couldn't be much farther, he told himself; he'd always been a good judge of distance.

He blamed the snow for the fact that he was still walking four hours later, seemingly no closer to his goal than he'd been before.

****

The wind picked up to a worrying speed long before Rhodey reached his hill, but what had been only a cold annoyance quickly became terrifying as it brought with it billowing snow and low visibility. Even though it was the peak of the day, he could scarcely see ten feet in front of him even with the help of the arc reactor, and he suspected it would only get worse. He trudged on determinedly, telling himself that a little snow could never stop a military man. The ground became firmer the more he walked, rather than softer like the ground approaching the previous mountain had been, and he wondered, half-panicked, if he'd gotten turned around. He didn't wonder if he'd gotten lost; he was already lost. He'd begun this entire thing while lost.

 _All right, Rhodes, time to stop. You'll freeze to death at this rate._ The thought was purely pragmatic, but it came too fast on the heels of panic, and he stumbled. He hit the ground, hard, and Rhodey realized why it had gotten firmer; rather than just snow, he had been walking across snow covered ice for at least twenty minutes by his estimate. Then he shifted, and he felt the ache of his knee, cold air too cold across his left leg. He braced himself on his elbows and checked; sure enough, the cloth had been scraped away by the fall, leaving part of his leg exposed.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," he mumbled, mostly because cursing always felt better out loud. Plus, it helped return him to some semblance of rational thought, and that was exactly what he needed. 

He needed shelter, but he couldn't very well build a snow shelter with all this ice in the way. He wouldn't be able to break the ice; even though he could see clear to the bottom of it when he looked, the layer was too thick to cut, and he doubted even smashing it with the helmet would make that much of a dent. Clearly, he had to get off the ice, and with only a moment to consider it, he collected his scattered supplies and turned back the way he assumed he'd come; his footsteps were nearly gone, erased by the wind, and his pace was slowed by the ache in his leg.

After what felt like too long, he made it back to the pure snow, and he wasted no time in digging, creating a mound like he had the first time. The shape wasn't right, something that was obvious after the first few minutes, but he was more than okay with sacrificing shape for speed; he didn't care if he had to stand all night, so long as it wasn't in the open. The result of his hasty efforts was a small quinzhee barely large enough for him to sit in, and he felt like the roof might collapse on him at any moment. It certainly wasn't large enough to withstand the heat of a fire, he realized, but with the way the wind roared around him, further attempts at construction were inadvisable.

 _At this point_ , Rhodey thought, half regretful, _I might as well have stayed in the suit._

He wouldn't have been able to move, true, but it had been dry, and it had been well-insulated beyond what he could salvage. It wouldn't have been the first time he'd depended on the suit for survival, although this particular situation might have lent some credence to the last argument he'd had with Tony. Reason number one million not to blow up the suits in a fit of conscience: snow shelter. Somehow, he knew the extra reason wouldn't have helped; Tony was stubborn like that.

Rhodey sighed, deep through his nose, and tried not to think about it. Possibly if he'd won that argument—or given up on it—Tony might have tried calling him. Tony might have known he was missing, might have been looking for him. Considering Tony hadn't tried to contact him once during the entirety of the conference, Rhodey very sincerely doubted Tony was looking for him now. And without a suit, what could Tony do anyway? There were only so many man-hours money could buy for a fruitless search. 

It was a depressing thought, and Rhodey pushed it aside. He lit a single branch on fire, hoping the small flame would at least keep his exposed skin from frosting, and he crammed the helmet back on his head. On impulse, he plucked the arc reactor from his small pile and held it thoughtfully in his hands. It didn't give off any heat to speak of, and the light, while constant, was hardly bright.

Rhodey held it against his chest all the same, refusing to think about his motivation while he drifted to sleep.

****

Rhodey woke up knowing that the storm had stopped, and the relief from that fact paled and disappeared when he moved his legs and felt only one. The panic was enough to jolt him to full awareness, and the sudden motion made him drop the arc reactor he'd been loosely cradling into the snow. He barely noticed, because while he could see both his legs clearly in the pre-dawn light, his left leg was completely numb. He spotted the rip in the clothes over his knee, and he felt dizzy—all this from a little _rip_?—but when he gently parted the cloth, he saw what he'd thought was just a minor bump was a large scrape on top of a deep bruise, and it made a marginal amount of sense. An exposed injury in the cold was not his idea of a good time, and then he'd gone and forgotten about it before sleeping; naturally it wouldn't be feeling the best in the morning. Really nothing to worry about.

He didn't quite manage to convince himself, partly because the skin still felt cool to the touch and the scrape—which couldn't have been that bad the night before if he'd forgotten it—looked ugly and severe. He very tentatively covered it with padding, hoping it would prevent some of the worst of the cold but not believing it would do much good otherwise. What it needed was cleaning and bandaging, and he could provide neither of those; in the chill of the morning, he couldn't risk getting his exposed skin wet, and wrapping anything around it other than probably dirty padding would cut off the circulation and make it worse. It would have to do, and once he started a fire and warmed himself enough to move on with the day, he would have to ignore it. It shouldn't have been a problem; he was used to ignoring things.

Even with the thought in mind, Rhodey was overwhelmed with relief when he started the fire and his leg almost immediately woke to pins and needles, his fumbling hands quickly following. If there was still feeling, he hadn't gotten frostbite down to the bones, and as long as that was true, he could move. He resisted the urge to rub the newly warmed skin, and instead focused on keeping the fire alive until full daylight. It was harder than it should have been, and he took stock of his supplies with an eye towards reality; he wouldn't be able to start another fire, not with the small amount of wood he had left. He still had well over half his long matches, but that wouldn't do any good if he couldn't find something to burn before nightfall. His options were clear: cover enough ground to find some trees, or freeze to death. 

Call him a simple man, but it wasn't hard to pick. 

****

Rhodey set out at the first break of dawn like hell was on his heels, but he wasn't as hale and hearty as he'd been three days ago. Attempts to ration his food meant that he was eating less than half his usual calories each day, and he hadn't had that much body fat to spare; the combination made him feel weak, and he compensated by drinking more and more water and taking more and more breaks. It was pure willpower that kept him from ripping into the jerky every time he stopped, and when he finished his stop by dumping more snow into his quickly depleting water supply, it was only his rational mind that kept him from chugging it down before it had even melted. It would cause him more problems than not in the end, he knew that. He'd have to remember this, for next time: bring more food, or at least hunting supplies. Except then the idea of there being a _next time_ made him laugh too much, making him dizzier than before.

There was nothing for it; he had to eat, and so after only a few hour's walk, he ate all but the last two pieces of jerky. He didn't even feel full, but at least he had something for his stomach to occupy itself with; he didn't want to make the journey while starving, because today—it had to be today, just had to be—he would climb that hill, that mountain, in front of him. He would definitely reach it within the next few hours, he told himself, even if he wasn't moving at his usual speed. Desperation was a funny thing that way, although possibly he was the only one who found it funny.

He timed himself. It was the best motivation he could find beyond survival, and so he timed each mile. Two miles in forty-five minutes wasn't bad, not in the snow, with an injury that throbbed a reminder at him every ten minutes. Of course, he could barely even feel the weight of his supplies anymore; when the bright snow began to hurt his eyes again, he put the helmet back on his head and ignored the pain in his neck, step after step. His ears burned, even protected from the wind. He wondered what they looked like now, but the images his imagination conjured were so gruesome he immediately pushed the curiosity from his mind. Focus. He had to focus.

The day was half over when he caught his first lucky break, and he stumbled—literally—over animal droppings. That might not have seemed important on any other day, but animal dung was flammable, and it could replace wood in a pinch. Even better, animals meant livable conditions not too far away, and in his perhaps too-optimistic mind, that meant people couldn't be beyond his reach after all. Perhaps even over that next hill. 

He tried not to get his hopes up, not enough to be impractical, but that too was hard. Although it was distasteful to him, he forced himself to plan for the worst and scoop the discovered droppings into his free hand. At least they were frozen and dry. If he was very lucky, he might not even need them.

It was the thought that pushed him on, and that kept him from celebrating when he finally reached the base of the hill he'd been aiming towards all this time. It was less impressive than he would have thought from miles away, but he took that as a good sign; this was achievable, where a towering mountain might not have been.

He climbed, and it seemed like every other step was a stumble. He'd never been a climber, but nerves and excitement combined badly to make average into awful as he made his way slowly up the slope. He could imagine safety, and warmth, and not feel foolish. He could imagine telling Tony he was sorry, telling his boss he was taking a vacation. It all seemed so within his reach, and he didn't even mind that climbing took more out of him than he would have thought, took long hours. At one point, he thought he saw smoke, and he climbed faster, heart pumping like a marathon runner's by the time he reached the crest of the hill.

Looking out over the horizon, all he saw was an endless landscape of snowy mountains without a soul in sight.

****

Rhodey tried not to think after reaching the mountain top. It was as much for survival as anything else he'd done up to this point, and he knew that it would be easy for his thoughts to fall into a downward spiral that he wouldn't recover from. He tried his best not to think but to move, and it worked. Mostly. His snow shelter was constructed efficiently, just on the far side of the mountain and sheltered from the wind, and by the time he had curled up in the evening, he had almost forgotten that he'd been so hopeful earlier that day.

One thing he did have to say for the mountain, however, was that his quest for wood had ended; at the bottom of the incline beyond where he stopped for the night, he saw another small clump of trees, too far to distinguish their branches but enough to distinguish them as more tall pines. It made it all the more difficult to start a fire that night with only animal droppings and the few small branches he'd collected from the snow, but he resisted the temptation to climb down the hill in the dark. That, he thought with some amusement, was how injuries happened. Dark climbing was drunk climbing, and all that.

The smell of the fire was almost unbearable, and his fingers barely cooperated, even with the wide matches. He must have burned himself at least once, but he didn't notice, not until he saw the blister forming on the tip of one finger. At least, he hoped it was a burn; the other possibility didn't bear thinking about, but since he'd been trying not to think, it didn't worry him that much.

Even though his stomach was twisting with hunger, Rhodey fell asleep almost as soon as he lay down. He didn't dream.

****

Rhodey woke up dizzy, and his hands trembled as he pushed the last of the jerky into his mouth, then trembled more as he gathered his supplies. He wasn't sure if the trembling was from cold or hunger, but either way, he had some idea that movement would help, even if it was only the stumbling, half-hearted movement of him walking and occasionally sliding his way down the side slope. He couldn't keep his balance, it seemed, no matter how much he tried, and when he gave up the fight of staying upright and used his hands as much as his feet, his palms burned. It was the cold, he told himself, just the cold. He could manage a little cold.

The trees were farther away than he'd thought, the second time he'd made that mistake, and he wondered if he didn't need glasses. It didn't matter and it was an idle thought, but it was much better than confronting the fact that when he finally reached the trees, he felt drained like he hadn't been since the worst three months of his life. But those had been in a helicopter in an Afghanistan desert, and he didn't know if it was comparable; heaven knew he was sweating more than he'd been then, and the sun hadn't been nearly as demanding. Or so he thought; it was strangely hard to remember.

His hands still shook as he sawed at the bark of the flimsiest tree, snapping branches down with his other hand and a frantic desperation that he never thought he'd see in himself. It was a wonder that his pride didn't shrivel up right there, seeing his hands move almost without conscious decision, but he felt a little pride was a fair price to pay for a roaring fire and shelter. It seemed impossible to think of moving further down the mountain that day, even though there were hours left of sunlight. Just one day's rest, that was all he asked.

It took him four tries to build a successful fire, partly due to over-eagerness and partly due to the poor choice of damp wood. It took him nearly as many tries to build a shelter that didn't collapse within minutes, and by the time his camp was set up—the same camp he'd set up four times—he was exhausted. Overheated. Hungry.

He lay down, because as far as he could tell, the closest thing to eat was the tree itself, and he wasn't quite that hungry. He knew he would be soon; a human being could survive three months without food, technically, but that didn't mean every human being would reach that mark. Around day ten, he imagined the trees would start to look awfully tasty.

Not surprisingly, it caused him physical pain to think of staying out here for ten days, pain different from the blisters and the scrapes and the pins and needles. What's more, it scared him; he'd only been here for five days. After ten…he would surely be dead. The world around him was already silent, not unlike a tomb, and he couldn't shake the feeling that the wilderness was just waiting for him to slip up, to make that final mistake. Paranoia: he must have been losing his mind.

Rhodey clenched his eyes shut and prayed like he hadn't since he was much younger.

 _Tony_ , he thought, eyes shut so tightly that they nearly watered. He decided he didn't mind being desperate after all.

_Tony. Help._

****

Rhodey didn't move much the next day, other than to feed the fire and, after a moment's thought, to grab the arc reactor and keep it close to his chest. It comforted him for some reason, although he told himself he didn't need comfort. He needed _food_ , he needed warmth, he needed sleep, but comfort? Not at all.

Just one more day's rest, he thought. Just one more.

****

The snow shelter had begun to crumble around him by morning, and patching the wall seemed to drain him completely. When the fire looked close to going out, he dropped the last of his supply into the flames, but he didn't stand to get more. His arms, when he pulled them close to his chest, were trembling, and he was shaking so hard he felt like his teeth might rattle out of his head. It was hard to convince himself, this time, that this was just a minor bump in the road. Just a small setback.

He rolled close to the fire and closed his eyes, but even that didn't seem to help. He thought he might have gone to sleep, except then he heard the crunch of snow—it had to be an animal, and he'd wondered where the droppings had come from—and his eyes snapped open.

He thought he was dreaming at first, but the truth of the matter was that he didn't let himself dream about Tony. Even now, knowing Tony was his best, most realistic chance of survival, he didn't let himself dream of rescue. That way lay madness, and of course Rhodey knew that.

Knowing the reality, however, just meant he had a harder time believing the familiar gold and red suit had really come for him (familiar, but not identical; he held onto the differences like a crutch, because he wouldn't have thought to imagine them). He thought he was dreaming because Tony had never been what Rhodey called _timid_ , and the first metal hand to reach for him was tentative, the first touch to his shoulder impossibly gentle for someone normally so impatient.

Rhodey wondered what he looked like, that Tony's reaction was like he imagined the worst and got exactly that.

"…Rhodey?" said Tony, his voice overlaid by the metallic hum of speakers. The face plate of the armor lifted up, and Rhodey could make out his worried face through eyes that felt dry and cracking like his skin.

"Hey." It was a croak, voice weak from disuse, but Tony smiled like he'd never heard anything better. The hand on his shoulder tightened.

"Hey buddy. I didn't know you were planning to go camping."

Rhodey tried to laugh, but the sound was frozen, caught in his chest.

"Yeah. Sorry."

Tony leaned forward and wrapped his arms around him, still so profoundly gentle. A part of Rhodey felt warmed, both by the friendly touch and the buzz of electronics. It had been so quiet for days, like sound was stopped by the mountain tops, dragged away by the wind.

"You stink," Tony said, voice strangled. He tightened his grip, and Rhodey didn't mind that it was metal pressing into sore muscles, or that Tony was shaking fiercely, causing the armor to clink like a set of keys in the silence. Rhodey just smiled and closed his eyes, and breathed him in.

"Next time, I'll be sure to bring soap."

****

Rhodey didn't remember much about the trip out of the mountains, and he was glad of that; when he woke up to soft taupe hospital walls, he felt like he was on fire from the waist down. He could only imagine what it had been like moving him, stiff and frozen, and then flying him to this room. Rhodey didn't even know if anyone else had been there besides Tony, that's how far gone he'd been, and the reality—how close he'd cut it, how near he'd been to sleeping and not waking up—was as uncomfortable as the stiff sheets against his cheek. He shifted his head to a more comfortable position, and in doing so, he got the first good look at his lower body, at his left leg wrapped in bandages up to his knee and at both feet covered loosely with a blanket he was too scared to lift up. At least, he decided, pain meant he could feel his feet; that had to be a good sign. Or a better sign, at least, considering he couldn't move his toes.

He fumbled for the nurse call button next to the bed, his reach hindered by an I.V. and his arm still sluggish from sleep, and within minutes, a tiny woman with dark hair came in, all smiles and pleasantry.

"Colonel Rhodes," she said, "I'm Doctor Shari. How are you feeling?"

Rhodey tried not to grimace, and focused instead on her slight accent. He must have still been in Nepal, or at least in the area. It was hard to tell where he was, exactly; his ears were ringing, and nothing of his surroundings gave the location away.

"My leg hurts," he finally admitted, and he received another smile in response.

"Well, we expected that. Anything else?"

He glanced at his feet again.

"I can't move my toes."

"They're wrapped in gauze, so that's perfectly normal. Don't worry, Colonel; you still have ten healthy toes. A little frostbite never hurt anyone." She paused, looking sheepish. "Sorry—that's doctor humor."

"I get it." He'd definitely heard worse, and it was hard to be resentful when he still had all his fingers and toes.

"If you're feeling better, we can go over your prognosis, if you like."

Rhodey nodded, and he let the words wash over him. Frostbite on his leg and face, more mild frostbite on his hands and feet, dehydration, and slight undernourishment; it could have been much worse. As it was, having it laid out for him was almost soothing; it was much better than feeling each limb go stiff, the skin go hard and cold, and not having the knowledge to determine how bad it was.

They expected him to recover fully, and Rhodey closed his eyes in relief while Shari described treatment, and things he was explicitly _not_ to do. He listened intently and nodded in all the right places, waiting until she was finished before asking the question that had been on his mind second only to his health.

"Doctor Shari," he said quickly, when she'd turned to leave. "Was there a man who dropped me off? Is he still here?"

"Iron Man? Yes, of course; I'll tell him you're up."

 _Of course she knows Iron Man,_ Rhodey thought, smiling. His amusement faded, however, when all the questions sprang up. Outside the dream where Tony came for him, in the real world, Rhodey had known all the suits had been destroyed. So when did Tony get another suit? How did he know to come find him? According to Rhodey's calendar—the same one his superiors had, the same one he'd sent to Tony and Pepper—he should have been gone for a few more days before anyone even knew he was actually missing.

"Hey."

Rhodey turned his head at the soft greeting and spotted Tony leaning in the doorway almost casually. It was too good of an impression, and if Rhodey hadn't known him as long as he had, he would have thought Tony had just been passing by. The evidence was there, though, in the wrinkles of his suit and the lines on his face, the stubble outside of his normal beard; however long Rhodey had been here, Tony had been right outside.

"Hey." Rhodey wet his lips and found them chapped but softer now that he was indoors. "How long have I been here?"

Tony shrugged.

"It's Tuesday, so…about two days? We found you on Sunday, and you've been sort of delirious."

Rhodey took note of the plural and intended to ask, but Tony stepped fully inside before he could, reaching one hand out to his chin.

"You need a shave," Tony explained, as if that was the problem with this situation. "I don't think you'll get one for a while, though; you had pretty bad frostbite on your cheek."

"Doctor Shari said it was superficial, but gruesome looking," Rhodey said, and that almost made Tony smile. The fact that the slight expression faded as soon as it appeared was alarming, though, and Rhodey's planned questions went out the window. "Tony, are you all right?"

Tony jerked back.

"Am _I_ all right, he asks?" Tony shook his head, and he looked torn between disbelief and disgust. "Yeah, buddy, I'm fine. Except for the fact you were stranded in the mountains for five days, and no one even thought—" Tony cut himself off, firming his jaw and staring fixedly at Rhodey's cheek. "Someone should have called me. When you left your faux-peace conference."

"It would have gone to voicemail," Rhodey said gently, and Tony's jaw clenched harder. After a moment, however, the fight went out of him.

"Yeah. Probably. Or Pepper would have gotten it." Tony shook his head and rubbed his hands against his thighs, a nervous gesture. "But you shouldn't have had to think no one was coming for you. Trust me when I say I know it sucks."

Rhodey didn't want to even touch that parallel, and he shook his head, determined to win whatever guilt fest they were having at the moment.

"Well, I shouldn't have lost the suit. Sorry about that."

"We found the suit before we found you, and it's a piece of junk anyway. I'll make you another one."

The reminder—that Tony was, in fact, building suits again—made Rhodey swallow. His throat felt dry, and he sipped lukewarm water from the cup beside his bedside before he could force any words out.

"About that, Tony—"

"Nope. Not having this conversation right now." Tony crossed his arms, looking as angry as he had when Rhodey had left before the conference, but it was different this time. Rhodey just couldn't place his finger on why. "This is Bir Hospital, by the way, in Kathmandu. Best disaster response in the country." Rhodey opened his mouth, but Tony barreled on. "Stay here as long as you like, and the flight home's on me. See you later."

Before Rhodey could even agree, Tony had spun on his heel and left, startling the nurse who was passing by. Rhodey flopped back down on his pillow, and resigned himself to the quiet again.

****

Rhodey stayed in the hospital for two days, and left with a very strict rehabilitation regiment to regain complete mobility of his left leg. His full recovery time wasn't expected to be much longer than a month, something he was grateful for, and he was relieved that it took only the length of the flight home to convince his superiors that he needed medical leave for at least a portion of that time. They gave him two weeks, on the condition that the suit was also fully functional by that point, and Rhodey didn't feel bad at how quickly he agreed. Tony was probably planning on avoiding him, or seemed to be; most likely, the suit would be ready and waiting for him as soon as he landed, just so Tony could avoid the conversation.

The suit wasn't waiting for him, but strangely enough, Happy was.

"Happy?" Rhodey asked, a little tentatively. They'd never been great friends, but they'd seen each other often enough when Happy had still been Tony's driver. Rhodey hadn't even seen him in the time since Happy had been released from the hospital, and that was at least six weeks ago.

Happy nodded at him, a professional nod. Rhodey relaxed slightly.

"Colonel Rhodes. Tony sent me here to pick you up."

"Did he?"

"Well, technically Pepper did, but you didn't hear that from me."

Rhodey smiled faintly, because that at least sounded like Pepper. He resisted the impulse to rub at the still-healing skin of his cheek, and he resisted the impulse to refuse.

"Then I'll be happy to take the ride. To Stark Tower, or has Tony found another place yet?"

Happy took Rhodey's small bag, the remains of his supplies that he couldn't quite bring himself to throw away, and they walked to the parking lot, controlled by Rhodey's pace.

"You know Tony would always pick the flashiest option. Of course he's at the Tower." Happy hesitated, the polite cheer on his round face interrupted in the space of a step. "I'll be honest with you, Colonel: I don't think Tony wants you there."

"But Pepper does."

"Pepper doesn't live there anymore." Rhodey's mouth went slack with shock, and Happy continued. "That only happened a couple weeks ago, though, and that's not nearly enough time to stop worrying about someone." Happy shifted the bag to his other hand, fingers flicking over keys to open the trunk. "If you ask me, I think Tony might not be taking it that well."

"Yeah," Rhodey said, neutral agreement. He could imagine just how badly Tony was taking the breakup; the last he'd heard, Tony had given Pepper a heart necklace with a chain made of shrapnel, a symbol on both ends that was gladly accepted. Rhodey wondered what had happened as he quietly slipped in the back seat, but he didn't ask and Happy was silent as he drove, the soul of professionalism.

It wasn't until they pulled up to the Tower that Happy rested a hand briefly on his arm, a request for pause before he could leave.

"Look, Colonel. I won't claim to be Tony's counselor or anything, but…well, I just got out of the hospital. I don't think he ever expected you to end up there." Happy released him quickly, and turned back to the front. "Whatever it is you're fighting about, go easy on him. He was really worried about you."

Rhodey nodded, throat tight, and he opened the door quickly, before he could explain that they weren't fighting, not exactly. There didn't seem much point in trying to explain it, though, when he didn't even understand it himself. 

Whatever the case, the Tower welcomed him like home, and when he stepped into the elevator and simply said "Tony," it carried him to the penthouse without so much as a stutter. He took that as a good sign, because surely if Tony was avoiding him, he would have told Jarvis not to let him up.

Rhodey almost had to double check the floor when he stepped out, because for a moment, he thought he'd walked right into R&D. The chairs and furniture he could see were a simple design that wouldn't have looked out of place in any garage, and they were littered with scraps of metal, wires, and tools carelessly discarded. It hadn't looked this way the last time he'd been here, but then, Tony had mentioned—in an offhand sort of way—that he was thinking of redecorating.

 _What's the theme?_ Rhodey wondered. _Divorced mechanic with limited space?_

He spotted the helmet almost immediately after he'd had the thought, and he sobered as he dropped his bag carefully to the floor. Right next to the War Machine helmet was the arc reactor; Rhodey had thought he'd left them both in the mountains when he'd been rescued. He was glad that wasn't the case; he felt weirdly attached to them in a way that probably meant his recovery would take longer than the doctors thought.

He sighed when he reached out a hand to brush the weather worn metal, and he wasn't even surprised when Tony's voice broke the moment from somewhere over his left shoulder.

"I thought you'd still be at the airport."

Rhodey shrugged, still running his palm over the smooth surface.

"Happy gave me a lift. He was…in the neighborhood."

Tony snorted, and Rhodey turned to look at him. He didn't look very well, a little too similar to when he'd been poisoning himself with the arc reactor embedded in his chest. He was taking the break-up hard, probably, just like Happy had said, and it made Rhodey sad for reasons too numerous to count.

"It was the wiring. Badly repaired Extremis damage," was Tony's reply, which Rhodey took to mean he didn't want to talk about it.

"I wondered about that," Rhodey said quietly. Tony stared at him, and Rhodey continued. "I thought there was a chance it was sabotage."

"Well, no, not unless you count the previous sabotage. This was just bad luck and incompetence, so let me tell you this right now: the next suit comes with a full warranty. It gets damaged, you bring it back to _me_." Tony's voice was so fervent that it startled Rhodey. He _had_ been worried.

"Thanks, Tony." For everything, he didn't say. "I'm sorry you're building suits again."

"I'm not." Rhodey looked at him in surprise, and Tony waved the attention away with practiced nonchalance. "It was inevitable. Not to give you too much credit for anything because you _did_ get stranded in the mountains, but it was unavoidable."

"So was getting stranded in the mountains." Rhodey shook his head, exasperated. "It's not like the suit had a 'check engine' light."

"Yeah, well, the new one does. And a tracker, too, so next time? Stay by the suit." Tony was sounding angry again, and Rhodey wondered if he was actually angry at him for getting lost. The explanation, while completely believable for Tony, seemed too simple.

"Are you ever going to tell me what's bothering you?" Tony stiffened, which could have meant anything. "It's not Pepper, is it? I mean, she didn't leave because you started building suits again, right?" Pepper, as far as Rhodey knew, was too used to Tony to break up with him over something like that, especially since she'd been their audience of one during his and Tony's fight about that very same issue.

Tony's answer surprised him.

"No. She left because I asked her to."

"Did she?"

" _Yes_." Tony rolled his eyes. "Why do people have such a hard time believing that? We fought. We broke up. It happens."

Rhodey could feel a headache coming on at the explanation, and he sat heavily on the nearest bench, once he found the room. He rubbed at his eyes with two fingers, because this? This was not the mess he'd anticipated finding when he came back.

"Tony, we both know it's not that simple here."

"No, it's not." Tony frowned at him, looking surlier than Rhodey had ever seen him in the middle of the day. "See, I also worked out a theory while you were out taking in the sunny side of the Himalayas." 

Rhodey waited, humoring him. Then Tony spoke, and he really wished he hadn't.

"I think I'm in love with you."

****

Rhodey was completely flabbergasted, and it was made all the worse by the fact that Tony seemed completely serious.

"You think? Well, it's nice to know you have a theory for that."

"You don't believe me," Tony said, sounding annoyed. Well, at least that explained his mood; he probably hadn't seen this conversation going very well, and the assumption was absolutely right.

Rhodey shook his head, feeling like he was explaining something obvious to a room full of fresh and green cadets.

"Tony, you've never been interested in me. Not even during your experimental phase in college." 

"I was also stupid and eighteen back then."

"You weren't stupid, Tony." That, at least, was something Rhodey was sure of. As sure as he was that Tony wasn't doing whatever this was on purpose. "You're just confused now."

Tony bristled defensively, the same way he did whenever his thought process was called into question.

"You haven't said you're not interested, you know. You could just say that." 

"Tony, you're my best friend." The reply answered both questions sufficiently, and Tony slumped where he stood.

"I was interested, you know. Back in college." Rhodey opened his mouth to interrupt, and then Tony unceremoniously shoved the pieces of the suit to the ground to sit next to him. "But you were my first real friend, and it just didn't seem worth it."

"And that's changed how?"

"Now I think I might be worrying about the wrong things." Tony looked at his hands, and his voice was thick when he spoke, like he fought to swallow the words and failed. "You could have died."

"You found me. However you did it."

"Called in a favor. I tried to call you a couple times, and when you didn't pick up, I thought you were just still mad at me. Then I called the hotel you'd been staying at." 

The rest of the story didn't need to be told, because Rhodey could imagine it. He'd felt the same panic, the same sickness, when Tony had gone missing, and he'd felt it for three months. He wouldn't have wished the feeling on anyone, least of all his best friend.

Tony smiled up at him, faintly, like he'd caught the thought.

"You could have died, Rhodey. And it all just seemed so stupid, all of a sudden."

Rhodey swallowed, shuffling his feet and feeling far away. Because he didn't dream of Tony, and there was a reason for that.

"You didn't break up with Pepper for that, right? Tell me you didn't."

"I didn't," Tony said, obliging him. Rhodey didn't know if he was telling the truth. "But the timing worked out. This conversation could have been really awkward otherwise."

Rhodey snorted with laughter, and Tony grinned at him. It all felt so normal.

"This conversation is _already_ awkward." He stifled another laugh. "God, you _would_ wait until I was on death's door to be in love with me."

Tony bit his lower lip, a fake expression of concern on his face.

"But that's okay, right?" The concern in the words, however, was entirely real, and Rhodey held out his hand, palm up.

It took Tony a minute to understand, and when he did, he hurriedly met the gesture with his own, lacing their fingers together, palms touching. Tony looked overjoyed, and Rhodey thought maybe he wasn't that confused after all.

"Yeah, Tony. It's okay."

****

_Epilogue_

Rhodey was shaking his head before the helicopter even touched ground, because the surprise—as far as surprises went—was not exactly a dream come true.

"I can’t believe you brought me to a log cabin in the Alps."

Tony shrugged, entirely unrepentant. "I thought it would help. Since you still don't like the snow, and all."

Rhodey sighed and flopped back against the seat, thinking forlornly about Malibu, or even the Tower.

"Tony, I _never_ liked the snow. Why would a weekend in a cabin help?"

Tony looked at him like he was being deliberately obtuse.

"It's not a weekend in a cabin. It's a weekend in a cabin, with _me_ ," Tony said, as if that made all the difference. Maybe it did; Rhodey had to admit the prospect looked much better with the addition, even if he still wasn't looking forward to it. He imagined all the things that could go wrong, how easy it would be to be stranded again, but Tony just looked so hopeful, and Rhodey _did_ have the weekend off.

And that, he decided, was the difference between being in love, and _letting_ himself be in love. It was amazing what a few months could do.

"Fine, you win." The helicopter landed, and they hopped into crisp snow, their bags following close behind along with a pair of thick winter coats Tony had cleverly kept stashed behind the seats. Rhodey shrugged his on, feeling disgruntled, and he shivered reflexively at being enclosed in its warmth. Tony just smiled at him from his own fur-lined hood, and Rhodey shoved him in one shoulder.

"Well? Lead on, McCandless."

Tony chuckled, and he led the way through the snow, up the winding path. Rhodey watched the helicopter leave for a few seconds, but not long enough to let Tony's dark coat out of his sight. If there was one thing he wanted even less than being stranded and lost in the mountains, it was _Tony_ being stranded and lost in the mountains.

He needn't have worried. As soon as they opened the front door, a burst of warm air hit them, the temperature perfect, and Rhodey got his first good look around the cabin. Luxury didn't begin to cover it, and it looked almost identical to the Tower suites, complete with a well-stocked mini fridge and a large screen T.V. not five feet from the door. Tony said something, but not to Rhodey, and sure enough, Jarvis answered.

Rhodey couldn't help being amused.

"Living rustic, huh?"

Tony smiled at him and held up two glasses and a bottle, expensive wine no doubt squirreled away from Tony's own stash.

"Hey, if you're going to build a cabin, it may as well be one you like."

Rhodey just laughed and kicked the door closed with one foot, accepting the full glass when it was offered.

Later, much later, when they were sitting on the couch and warm from the alcohol and the atmosphere, Tony curled up against him, hand trailing absently over his ribs. Rhodey hummed approvingly, and he was half-asleep and perfectly content when the direction of the touch changed.

He still couldn't get used to this, to the touch and play that was having sex with Tony. Even after months (and an embarrassingly short time actually "dating" beforehand), Rhodey still couldn't fathom it happening. Tony had always touched everybody with openness, but now he touched him with adoration, fingers skimming over skin like he couldn't get enough of the texture.

Rhodey chuckled when Tony's fingers touch his ribs under his sweater, a light caress that tickled more than anything, and he turned his head to find Tony watching him with faux innocence.

"All right, all right. I'm awake."

Tony grinned shamelessly, and Rhodey leaned over and kissed him, his favorite thing to do when it made Tony purr like he'd been given a rare treat. When Tony wrapped warm arms around his back and groaned, low and throaty, all pretense of light kissing disappeared, and Tony sucked on his tongue until Rhodey was trembling.

The couch was probably big enough to attempt anything they could put their minds to, but Rhodey didn't want to try it. Being cramped had never been a turn-on for him, but when he pulled back enough to make the attempt to move to the bedroom, Tony clutched at his shirt and followed him, more than happy to kiss their way down the hallway. They thudded against the closed bedroom door, unsteady feet making the action unusually clumsy, and Tony was laughing when they opened the door. Rhodey didn't get to see much more than the bed and closet before Tony surged forward unexpectedly, knocking them both onto the comforter.

The kiss became several smaller kisses, rapidly pressed to his mouth, because Tony had never been a fan of not being able to talk.

"Take this off," he murmured in between kisses, tugging at the hem of Rhodey's sweater. Rhodey bit his lip in response and Tony pulled back, just like he always did.

"I can't take anything off if you don't _get off me_ ," Rhodey grumbled, but it was good-natured and routine, because Tony always acted first and thought later while Rhodey was the exact opposite. Tony took the hint and pulled back further, pulling off his own t-shirt as he went. All the bare skin was a shock, the scars from where the arc reactor had been all but lasered away completely, and Rhodey knew from experience that the skin there was as sensitive as if it had never been damaged at all.

When they were naked and Tony's chest was under his palms, Tony shuddered, angling his neck just enough for Rhodey's mouth to have free access to every sweaty inch.

Tony clutched at his back, hands slipping over skin to grab his thighs and pull him up until they rubbed against each other like teenagers.

"Hey, Rhodey," Tony said, soft into open air and pillows. "Do you want to…?"

Rhodey hummed, and remembered not being able to walk right the next day.

"Not tonight." He smiled against skin. "I thought you wanted to go skiing tomorrow."

Tony made a sound between a protest and a laugh, but the noise quickly became a groan, hips angling for better contact as fingers clutched at muscles. Rhodey bit hard at the skin under his teeth, urging Tony to move faster against him, and Rhodey wrapped a hand around them both as he did. It didn't last long, because they were still such _teenagers_ it seemed. Rhodey wondered if they were making up for the lost opportunities years ago.

When Tony shuddered against him, Rhodey quickly followed, letting the smell of sweat and sex pull him over. Tony flopped hard on top of him, unmindful of the mess they'd just made, and it made Rhodey groan for an entirely different reason.

"You're heavy."

"Hey, you carried the bags. I think you're strong enough to support a little weight."

Rhodey chuckled and pushed him to the side, another routine, and immediately regretted it. The air was cooler than it had been in the living room, and as if sensing his discomfort, Tony curled up against him immediately. Rhodey rested his hand gently over Tony's heart, and he felt warm when he saw Tony's eye close and a smile touch his lips.

The snow fell against the windows, heaping itself high against the plane, and Rhodey didn't feel worried at all. He just tightened his grip, smiled, and fell asleep.

****

End

**Author's Note:**

> This work is a part of an (unofficial) Reverse Big Bang. [LePeru](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Nizah/pseuds/LePeru) was kind enough to provide some [truly amazing art](http://archiveofourown.org/works/959306) for the basis of this story, and I was happy to work with her. Thank you for the wonderful opportunity!
> 
> This story also fulfills: hurt/comfort on my trope bingo card, armor on my Tony Stark table, and accident on my long fic bingo card. :)


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